


Bodily Functions

by Cumberbatch Critter (CumberbatchCritter)



Series: Awkward Boys Being Awkward Boys - Without Slash! [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Not-Really-Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, But not exactly watersports, Case Gone Wrong, Drugging, Gen, Hostage Situations, Kidnapping, Sherlock shouldn't drink coffee and then get kidnapped :P, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 04:31:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1455460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CumberbatchCritter/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock get drugged, kidnapped, and are being held captive. It's pretty much a normal day, until Sherlock - rather, his transport - brings to attention a <i>slight </i>problem.</p><p>Coffee's a diuretic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bodily Functions

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Slightly squicky - albeit a perfectly normal situation. Take that as you will.

Sherlock pressed his shoulder against John's, shifting subtly. "Ugh. My head is _throbbing_."

"Says the one who got drugged and not clocked over the head," John muttered, leaning back against Sherlock's shoulder evenly.

"Mm... yes. Sorry about that."

John sighed, raising his free hand to gingerly touch the bump on the side of his head. "How long have we been here again?"

"Too long," Sherlock muttered.

Silence descended for the third time since they'd been there - too long, like Sherlock had said. John was aching and tired and he wanted to go home and sleep, although he was pretty sure he ought to go to the twenty-four hour to make sure he didn't have a concussion.

"John?" Sherlock questioned, after an unknown amount of minutes had gone by.

John tried to shift his wrist in the handcuff. "Hm?" His hand was cuffed to Sherlock's, and then to the pipe, which meant that his arm, as well as Sherlock's, probably, was cramping. Sherlock's other hand was tied to the same pipe with a tight cord of rope. John still had a free hand, but he couldn't move enough to get at Sherlock's roped wrist and the cuff wasn't going anywhere. It was starting to smart, actually.

"Do me a favour."

John tilted his head back to look at Sherlock, although all that met his vision was the wavy locks of black hair as Sherlock was tilted away slightly. "Yeah?"

Sherlock shifted again.

John could feel the muscles rippling beneath his own back, although Sherlock didn't say anything. "Sherlock?" he coaxed, trying to catch sight of his face. "What's wrong? If you're hurt, you probably should have told me when we first woke up."

Sherlock shook his head. "No, no. Not hurt anymore than would be expected. But..." he trailed off. He was exuding awkwardness, which genuinely surprised John. Sherlock Holmes didn't _get_ awkward, unless it had to do with emotion.

"Just tell me," John said as patiently as he could manage.

"I've got to... to use the loo," Sherlock muttered.

John blinked in surprise. "Wait. You're... _Really?_ "

Sherlock sat up a little straighter, although he still didn't look back. "Well, I can't help it, now can I?" He shifted. "I haven't slept, so I've had coffee."

John sighed. "Okay, yeah, but what do you want me to do about it?"

"You're the only one with a free hand."

John stopped. "Wait. You... You want _me_ to... to..."

Sherlock sighed, resting his head back against John's. "I can't do it myself. John. Please."

John shifted his head to the side, letting Sherlock's head fall. "I am not... no."

"Look. It's about to get infinitely more awkward if you _don't_ help me here. And given the fact that you're sitting _next_ to me, it's stastically unlikely that you're going to avoid any of the damage. Not to mention, you know as well as I the implications of-"

"Oh, don't give me that," John interrupted. "You once sat at your microscope for _twelve hours_ without once getting up to use the loo. If anything's unhealthy, that is."

" _Coffee_ ," Sherlock reminded. "Diuretic."

"Just... shut up, Sherlock," John said. "I'm sure Lestrade'll be here soon, or your brother. Stop thinking about it."

"But-" Sherlock stopped, and sighed. "Fine," he muttered, a bit sulkingly.

They fell back into silence, albeit one that was strangely tense now. It wasn't like John didn't sympathise. Living with Sherlock for the past however many months meant that John had been in too many close shaves to count and he'd had to piss in semi-public places more times than he had ever _wanted_.

But... Sherlock was talking about unzipping his trousers, taking out his... penis (because that's all it was, John, it was a penis, he had one of his own, and how many had he seen because he was a doctor and he shouldn't have to mentally _pause_ before thinking the word 'penis'), and hold it for him while he took a piss.

The other option, however, was far more messy. And was John _really_ going to let Sherlock wet himself because he wouldn't...

John sighed. What a mess.

Literally, maybe.

The silence lasted maybe fifteen minutes. John was growing increasingly more tense and Sherlock wasn't apparently in a better boat, because the little shifting he was doing was clearly meant to be subtle but every twitch made John's nerves tighten.

Sherlock twisted his legs together.

It wasn't like John was _trying_ to notice. But the way he was shifting next to him, pressing his thighs together, his breathing had picked up, chest rising and falling more quickly than usual...

"Alright."

Sherlock's head snapped up to look at John. His face was flushed pink. "What?"

"Just... just... stand up," John muttered.

Sherlock stared at him for another moment, eyes wide. His pupils were blown. John hoped that it was just mixed signals and _not_ that Sherlock actually got off on... this.

"Er... I'm not sure that I can," Sherlock muttered, pressing his thighs tighter before relaxing them. He was sweating.

John sighed. "Okay, if anybody can, it's you. Just hang on for thirty seconds, alright?"

Sherlock grunted before gripping his fingers around the pipe, gingerly pushing himself to his feet. He couldn't reach full height due to the rope and cuffs, but it didn't seem to matter; he seemed stuck bent at the waist, pain flickering across his face.

"Hang on, hang on," John murmured, sliding the cuff to give him a little more working room. "Just a few more seconds." Thankfully, it was his right hand that was cuffed, so he was marginally able to manage with one hand better than he thought he would.

"John..."

"Just a second," John said, making quick work of the button on Sherlock's trousers and pushing them down awkwardly. He wasn't wearing any pants, which made it easier for, well, both of them, although John vaguely wondered why he hadn't gotten around to putting any on this morning.

"John!"

"Turn that way," John said, bumping Sherlock's side with his shoulder.

Sherlock did as directed, turning as much as he could with the pull of the handcuffs. "Hurry up."

"Yes," John murmured, gently curling his fingers around Sherlock's cock and aiming it towards a nearby beam. "Go. You can go."

He had barely given the affirmative before Sherlock started pissing, a high-power torrent that splashed off the concrete floor with an all-consuming sound that filled the empty room.

John's face, which was already warm given the circumstances, burned at the sound. He turned his head way, trying to focus on anything else.

He wasn't sure _why_ he was suddenly embarrassed. He was holding Sherlock's cock (which was, well, average, he had noticed, and with a thatch of dark hair that matched the hair on Sherlock's head) and he had certainly walked in on Sherlock having a piss before (because Sherlock rarely closed bathroom doors and took a leak sometimes in strangely random places while out on a case), but this was... weird. This was personal. This was...

Sherlock sighed breathlessly, slumping against the wall. His eyes were closed. "Better than an orgasm," he intoned.

John swallowed. "Good to know," he mumbled. "I guess."

Sherlock fell silent again. Only the sound of Sherlock's piss echoed throughout the room and, eventually - after _far_ too long, John thought - it ended, too.

"... Better?" John asked awkwardly, shaking the last drops off before gingerly tucking him back into his trousers and re-buttoning them.

"Much," Sherlock breathed. He cleared his throat and flicked his gaze to John, having enough presence about him to actually seem awkward. His face was as red as John thought his own must be... which was strange in itself, because Sherlock never blushed. "Uh. Thanks." He shuffled his weight a bit before sinking back to his spot on the floor. "I promise I'll hold your cock if you're tied up and have to piss," he added, his voice flat.

John rolled his eyes and sat down as well. "And I _sincerely_ hope that never happens."

Sherlock laughed slightly, leaning his shoulder against John's again.

John sighed. "I'm guessing you don't have an alcohol wipe in your pocket."

It was Sherlock's turn to roll his eyes. "No. Don't worry; I bathe regularly."

"Not what I was thinking about."

"Why is holding my cock different than touching my arm or hand? It's just another limb of the human male body."

"Well, you think about that for awhile," John muttered.

"I wouldn't be bothered holding your cock," Sherlock said, in the off-hand tone of a disinterested party.

John sighed. "Well, _I_ would be bothered. Now, can we stop talking about our coc- penises?"

Sherlock shrugged. "If you say so." He yawned widely and shuffled a bit, resting his head against his shoulder.

"Sherlock," John muttered.

"Tired. I said it was like an orgasm."

John sucked in a deep breath. " _O_ kay, we're not talking about that, either. Go to sleep."

Sherlock stretched and exhaled, closing his eyes. "Thank you, John."

"Yeah," John muttered. "You're welcome... I guess."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come on.  
> If they're detectives, they're bound to end up in situations like this _eventually_. And just because it involves certain body parts involved with sex... doesn't mean it has to be sexual besides the awkward odd comment.
> 
> Part four of How Many Times Can I Write Awkward Situations and Make Them NOT Slashy! :)


End file.
